Bad Company
by The Yuggster
Summary: After an incident in an inn Legolas and Aragorn are taken captive by a group of bandits. When one of the bandits finds the one proof of Aragorn’s heritage that ranger and elf had fought so hard to hide he reacts in a way that neither could have predicted.
1. A Thief Revealed

Title: Bad Company 

Author: Yuggster

Rating: T (violence)

Genre: Action/Adventure, General

Disclaimer: _Lord of the Rings_ belongs to Tolkien, as do Legolas and Aragorn. The bandits belong to me, but you wouldn't want them, would you?

Summary: After an incident in an inn, Legolas and Aragorn are taken captive by a group of bandits. When one of the bandits finds the one proof of Aragorn's heritage that ranger and elf had fought so hard to hide, he reacts in a way that neither could have predicted.

Like all my stories, this one is not slash.

Warnings: Some non-graphic torture, mostly off-stage.

_Author's Note_: _This story is set about twenty-five years before_ Lord of the Rings.

_Bad Company_ was written for Celebdil-Galad and Tinlaure's third fanfiction contest (won first place as the only entry). The challenge was to include the line "Do you act like this because you don't know any better? Or because you think it is fun to tempt the Valar?" in context in the story (it's in the second chapter). They have a new challenge up now, too. You can find out all about it on their homepage (you can get to it through their profile--they're in my favorite authors list).

_I'm posting the chapters here separately over the next few days (six chapters and a very short epilogue), but you can check out the whole thing on Celebdil-Galad and Tinlaure's website. _

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Chapter One: A Thief Revealed

"I still don't see why we had to come here."

Aragorn grinned and pretended he couldn't hear his friend's protests. "What?" he called, placing one hand behind his ear.

The elf grimaced, rolling his eyes. "Why did we come _here_?"

"Because I like this inn," the ranger retorted, even though he had only been here once. "We can be ourselves here," he added with a grin, clamping the stem of his pipe between his teeth.

Legolas fidgeted, crossing his arms as though afraid of being touched by anything in the place. "Perhaps _you_ can, but I find it hard to be myself in the presence of so many of your kind."

Raising one eyebrow, the ranger leaned forward. "And what's wrong with the race of men?" he asked, puzzled as his friend had never showed prejudice toward men before.

"It's not the race of men, Strider," Legolas said daintily, straightening up higher in his chair as a drunk tottered by. "I just never realized how many humans were as smelly and filthy as you."

Aragorn laughed, shaking his head. Here, in this rowdy inn with his best friend, he felt he could finally lay all the responsibilities of being the Hope of Men and leader of the rangers aside and simply be Estel, or at least Strider. "I thought you'd have gotten used to the smell by now," he commented. "You've been traveling with me, haven't you?"

"Yes, but even on your foulest day you never smelled this...ripe."

"Ah, you should spend more time with the rangers, my friend," Strider said with a grin. "Your nose would grow immune to many smells if you did so. And it might just cure you of your insatiable need to bathe."

Legolas glared at his friend, though his eyes were sparkling with merriment. "I'm merely trying to make up for your apparent allergy to soap, Strider."

The human just laughed again. He could hardly hear his friend over the ruckus of the men gathered, and from the commotion at one of the tables it appeared a fight was breaking out. "We should leave," he said, nodding toward the struggling men.

The elf raised one eyebrow in agreement, standing up from his chair and backing away from the table.

A man ran up against him, grizzled and filthy-looking, and simply reeking of ale. "Pardon me, Lord," the man wheezed, grabbing Legolas' shoulder to steady himself. "Won't happen again."

Aragorn bit back a laugh at the look on his friend's face as the drunk pushed away from him and began to totter off, but his laughter soon died as Legolas whirled about and grabbed the man by the wrist. The man yelped and cried out, demanding that the elf unhand him, but Legolas simply twisted the man's arm to reveal the small money pouch clasped in the his fingers. "I believe that is mine," the elf said smoothly.

A sudden hush ran through the room as the thief was exposed. The innkeeper shouldered his way through the crowd, badgering them to get back to their tables. "I'm so sorry, kind sirs," he blustered, retrieving the pouch from the man and giving it back to the elf with a bow. "I'll whistle up the sheriffs and we'll just nip him into jail."

Legolas secured the pouch back at his belt, but shook his head to the innkeeper's offer. "There's no harm done. Just let him go."

Strider smiled as a whisper ran through the crowd at the elf's apparent mercy. He knew, though, that Legolas simply didn't want to face the prejudice and accusations that would accompany making a formal complaint, as men tended to stick together and automatically assume the elf had caused the trouble in some way.

They shouldered past the man, who stood fuming and rubbing his shoulder, a furious expression on his face. "There's no harm done," Strider mimicked as they made their way up to their room. "What about the harm to my nerves? I feared you were going to twist his arm off—and there are too few of us Smelly Humans in the world."

Legolas glared at the ranger, shoving Aragorn aside as they entered their room. "Do not mock me, Strider, or I shall be forced to call you by your given name."

Strider raised one eyebrow in consternation. "What do you mean?"

"Oh...simply that wonderful term of endearment your mother used to use...what was it again?"

Growling, Aragorn lunged at the elf, landing painfully on the floor as the lithe being simply stepped aside. "Now, Strider, remember your knee."

Aragorn groaned. Only days ago he and Legolas had had a run-in with orcs—which wasn't exactly unusual, except that this time both had escaped unscathed. That is, until Aragorn tried to mount his horse and the beast side-stepped, resulting in a twisted knee for the ranger and several hours of laughter for the elf. "Keep laughing, Princeling, and you'll find yourself at my mercy."

"At _your_ mercy?" Legolas asked merrily, sitting on one of the beds. "And just how would that happen?"

The ranger shrugged, sitting on the other bed and tugging off his boots. "Even elves have to sleep."

"But humans need much more."

"That's why I'll have my revenge when you least expect it," Aragorn commented, fighting back a yawn. Now that they were away from the constant noise and motion of the dining room, he found it hard to stay awake.

"Just go to sleep, Ranger," Legolas ordered, leaning over and neatly tipping Aragorn onto his side.

Strider growled. "I'll have my revenge, Elf."

"I'm sure you will," Legolas said sweetly, drawing a blanket over his friend. "I'm sure you will."

In moments, Aragorn's snores filled the room and Legolas quietly laughed to himself. "Children," he muttered and lay back to sleep, lulled into a false sense of security by the apparent safety of the inn.

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	2. The Vengeance of Dormian

_AN: Just a warning, this chapter is a bit violent.__

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Chapter Two: The Vengeance of Dormian

Legolas was awakened suddenly a few hours later when a hand clamped over his mouth and someone dragged him off of his bed.

"Well, if it isn't the merciful elf," someone spat, driving a punch into his gut. He struggled briefly, unable to free himself from the two men who were holding him from behind.

"Keep fighting, Boy, and your friend will pay," the man warned, nodding over to where two more men were holding Aragorn, a knife to the ranger's throat.

Legolas' eyes widened. "What do you want?" he asked as soon as he was able to speak, recognizing the man as the pickpocket from before.

"I want revenge," the man growled, dark eyes flashing as he punched Legolas in the stomach again. "The pride of Dormian is not easily lost, Elf."

The elf bit back a cry as the man's fists found targets in his midsection again, followed by a dizzying uppercut to his jaw and a blow to his eye.

"Not so high and mighty now, are we?" Dormian taunted, rooting through the elf's clothing for what valuables he was carrying. All he found was the small pouch of coins, for Legolas was wearing no jewelry save the brooch that was still in his cloak. The man backhanded his captive, splitting the elf's lip in the process.

"Leave him alone!" Strider called out, struggling against the men who held him.

Seething, Dormian drove one last blow into Legolas' belly before turning to face Strider. "And who are you to say so?" the man snarled. "We know that the elf isn't carrying anything valuable...what about you?"

Legolas' mind whirled. He knew Strider was probably wearing the Ring of Barahir, or had it in one of his pockets as it was one of the man's most treasured possessions. If Dormian took it and it found its way into the hands of one of Sauron's minions...or worse, if Dormian himself recognized it his friend would be in serious danger.

"So this is how you reclaim your honor?" he taunted, raising his voice so Dormian would be sure to hear him. "Pitiful. Understand that I did not let you go out of any mercy; it was merely because I did not want to be soiled by deigning to concern myself with the likes of you."

Vaguely aware of Aragorn's frantic 'are you mad?' expression, Legolas held his head as high as he could as Dormian stalked back toward him. "Is that what you think?" the man asked, grabbing the elf by the back of the neck and squeezing painfully. "You think you're better than me?"

Growling, Dormian kneed Legolas in the midsection, doubling the elf over. He rained down blows on his captive's head and shoulders, not stopping until he had knocked Legolas free of his companions' grip. Still not satisfied that the elf had learned his lesson Dormian let loose with several kicks to the elf's ribcage, and Legolas fought back a cry of pain as he felt something snap in his side.

Dormian laughed as the elf feebly fought to protect his battered ribcage against the man's attack and grabbed Legolas by the hair, pulling his head up enough to spit in the elf's face. "Let this be a lesson to you, Elf; men are not so easily trifled with." He called his men and led them away, slamming the door shut behind them.

Legolas could hear them laughing as they made their way down the hall, but he focused on curling up around the pain in his chest. Every breath was agony, and when he placed his hand against his side he felt blood from a wound the man's boot had opened.

"Legolas," Aragorn called, dropping to his knees beside the elf, a slight tone of remonstration in his voice. "Do you act like this because you don't know any better? Or because you think it is fun to tempt the Valar?" he asked with a trace of dark amusement mixed with anger.

"Ring," Legolas managed to wheeze. Strider stared at him in puzzlement, gently prying the elf's hand away from his side. "They would have found your ring."

Strider's eyes lit up in understanding, but his gaze grew saddened. "Legolas," he said with a sigh, shaking his head. "I hid the ring in my pack when we arrived."

The elf blinked, and had he not been in so much pain he would have found the situation rather humorous. "At least they didn't hurt you," he whispered.

"But they hurt you," the ranger replied, reaching for his pack of healing supplies with an air of regretful familiarity. "I've told you many times, I can take care of myself," he added, lighting a lamp so he could better see his patient.

Legolas couldn't answer, for his friend had chosen that moment to push his shirt and tunic up and see which, if any, ribs were broken. He gasped and instinctively pulled away, his vision graying, only to be drawn back by the soothing voice of the ranger. "That hurt," he complained, forcing his tone to take on more of a whine than it usually would.

Aragorn chuckled faintly. "It should. Two this time, Legolas."

The elf groaned. "Not quite a record, then," he commented, hissing as his friend began cleaning the gash Dormian's boot had left.

The ranger just shook his head. "This isn't funny," he said sharply.

Legolas rolled his eyes. "Don't, Strider," he said. "Please, not the 'I'm mortal and my life is not worth yours' lecture again."

"'Lecture'?"

"I've heard it seventy-three times," Legolas continued, fighting a wave of nausea as Aragorn helped him sit up to wrap his ribcage. "I believe I could recite it word for word, in case you've forgotten any of it."

Aragorn paused, resting his forehead against his friend's shoulder for a moment. Legolas was puzzled, until he realized the ranger was shaking with laughter. "Seventy-three?"

"That might be an understatement," the elf retorted, his voice growing faint in pain as Strider accidentally brushed up against a tender spot on his belly—one of many that would soon show itself as a bruise.

Neatly tying off the bandages, Strider took a scrap of cloth and began cleaning the blood off his friend's face, laughing as the elf tried to push him away.

"I can do it myself, Strider," Legolas complained, unsuccessfully trying to wriggle away from the ranger.

"I know y—" Strider hushed as Legolas suddenly grabbed his arm, alarm in his eyes.

"They're coming back," the elf whispered, a note of confusion coloring his voice.

The door was flung open again, and Legolas caught a glimpse of Dormian trailing behind another man before Aragorn crouched in front of the elf, shielding him from sight of the bandits.

"Stand aside," the other man, the one they didn't recognize, said.

At his nod, two of the bandits ran forward and pulled Aragorn away, earning themselves a fair number of bruises for their trouble.

The man knelt before the elf, capturing Legolas' chin in his hand and studying the darkened bruise that was beginning to show. "This was your vengeance, Dormian?" he asked sarcastically, shaking his head. "Because of you we now have two prisoners. You should have known we could not leave the elf...he would report this to his kin and they would take swift retribution on all who dwell here. And as for the ranger...how do we know he won't do the same?"

The man stood up, his expression saddening. "Bring them. Bind their hands, and pull their hoods over their faces," he pushed Dormian out the door, stopping to pick up the two packs that lay against one wall. "I will deal with you later, Dormian."

Legolas barely bit back a whimper as one of the men pulled his arms forward none-too-gently and bound his wrists tightly. Aragorn was treated the same, though his captors were even less gentle with him. After a word from Aragorn the men released him just enough to put his boots on—Legolas had slept in his. The bandits threw the cloaks around their prisoners and pulled the hoods up to cover their faces, just as the leader had ordered. "March, you," one of the men sneered, pushing Legolas out the door.

He stumbled, regaining his balance before the men could reach him again. Someone pushed up against his arm, and he turned to see Aragorn beside him, the man offering an encouraging glance. Then one of their captors pulled the ranger away, and a heavy hand landed on Legolas' shoulder, guiding him down the stairs and out a back way.

"Creon, take the elf. Abner, the ranger," the leader called, swinging up onto his horse. Their own horses were nowhere to be seen—Legolas sincerely hoped that they would be safe until he and Aragorn could return. They had stabled the horses at a livery rather than at the inn, and the innkeeper had insisted on locking up their weapons when they arrived. While Legolas understood the man's desire to keep conflicts in the inn from turning deadly, he knew that the bandits would not have been so bold had their captives been armed.

The man named Creon pushed Legolas up onto the front of his saddle, then climbed up behind him. One arm roughly encircled the elf's torso, and he gasped as his captor unwittingly squeezed against his broken ribs.

"We ride!" the leader announced, leading the men away from the inn and taking his prisoners north.

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_Okay, when I started posting this I forgot that I have to go out of town this weekend. I will post the next chapter before I leave Friday, but will not be able to post again until Sunday night._


	3. Prisoners of Lothram

_AN: As promised, chapter three up before I leave town. I won't be able to post again until Sunday, possibly pretty late (though I think we're going to be back by about five...but with my family you never know). Anyway, here's chapter three._

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Chapter Three: Prisoners of Lothram

"Legolas? Can you hear me?"

The elf groaned, slowly opening his eyes to see the worried visage of Aragorn peering over him. "St-strider?" he asked, fighting to sit up.

"Here, let me help you. You've been unconscious for hours."

Legolas let his friend help him sit, gratefully accepting the cup of water the ranger handed him. "Where are we?" he asked, wincing as one hand massaged his bruised side. He glanced around, noticing that they were in a small cell with one window, and a torch hanging in a bracket in the wall outside their cell, which he could see through the bars that had been erected to separate the cell from the main chamber.

"I'm not sure. We're a long way from the inn...we must have ridden nearly five hours after we left."

"Five?" Legolas asked, resting his head back against the wall.

"After about an hour Creon called that you had passed out, but the leader was unwilling to stop. He made sure you were still alive and not likely to die, and kept us going," Aragorn sighed and sat next to Legolas, close enough that their arms were almost brushing. "I don't understand why they didn't just kill us."

"Vengeance," Legolas replied, wincing as a cough sent sharp pains through his chest. "He's afraid of what would happen if our bodies were discovered."

Aragorn nodded, grunting his agreement. "How do you feel?" he asked, concern coloring his voice.

"Fine?" Legolas said, though it was more of a question than an actual answer.

The ranger groaned as though his friend had made a bad joke. "And what does 'fine' mean?" he asked.

Legolas sighed. "I ache," he finally said.

"Your chest?" Aragorn asked.

The elf paused to consider which pain was worse, and shook his head. "My shoulders," he replied, sensing the man's surprise.

Aragorn half-turned and knelt beside the elf, gently loosening the ties of his shirt and sliding the neck back to glimpse his friend's shoulders. "Ai, Legolas..." he murmured, gently touching the tender skin.

Legolas hissed. "Don't touch it!" he said sharply, wondering at the human's need to touch _everything_.

"You're very bruised," the man explained, sitting back down after carefully replacing Legolas' shirt. "Worse than the ones on your stomach."

The elf sighed, leaning against Aragorn to take the pressure off his injured back. The ranger very gently put an arm around the elf's lower back, conscious to avoid any other wounds, and began humming an old song.

"How long do you think they'll hold us here?" he asked, shifting the elf's weight slightly so he could lean back against the wall.

"Possibly the rest of our lives," Legolas replied sleepily, fighting the exhausting that had taken hold of his body.

"Go to sleep, Elf," Aragorn said, a smile clear in his voice.

Legolas fought to keep his eyes open, but finally just leaned his head against his friend's shoulder and let sleep claim him.

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Aragorn heaved a sigh of relief as he felt his friend's breathing even out. At least if Legolas was sleeping he wouldn't be in any more pain, he reasoned. The bruising on the elf's shoulders had angered him, and he well remembered the beating Dormian had inflicted upon Legolas because the elf was trying to protect him.

He shifted slightly, wincing as a protruding rock dug into his back. He'd gotten a few cuffs for his rebellious behavior, but the leader had been wise (or unfortunate) enough to realize he could guarantee the ranger's cooperation by threatening the elf. So Aragorn had come somewhat peacefully, rankling at the way the bandits treated his unconscious friend.

The men had taken their cloaks, boots, and packs, and Aragorn desperately hoped that no one discovered the secret pocket of his pack in which he'd hidden the Ring of Barahir. If it remained undiscovered there was still a chance they could retrieve it if—when—they escaped, but if someone had found it and decided to sell it the ring was lost forever.

Legolas whimpered and stirred in his sleep, and Aragorn took back up humming the old lullaby to soothe his friend. He reached up his free hand to make sure, once again, that the elf wasn't running a fever—as though the previous twelve times he had done so were not enough.

Sudden footsteps approaching warned Aragorn that someone was coming, and he nudged Legolas back to consciousness.

The door to the cell swung open, and in stepped the man who had lead the bandits at the inn, followed by Dormian, Creon, and another man Aragorn didn't know. The men all shared similar coloring; dark blonde, almost brown, hair and dark eyes, except that the fourth bandit's hair was graying.

"What business brings the two of you to these parts?" the fourth bandit asked. "Surely a ranger and an elf would have something better than to terrorize the peoples of this land?"

Aragorn straightened in surprise. "We were just passing through," he replied. "We were making for the village of Bree, a few days' south of the inn."

"I know where Bree is," the bandit said with a hint of amusement. "Dormian tells me that the elf insulted him and he was only taking what vengeance he was due."

The ranger could feel his friend's sigh. "Legolas caught Dormian stealing from him. If by insult you mean that he did not turn your man over to the authorities when he had the chance, then I suppose he is guilty."

The bandit smirked at this answer. "He claims the two of you are spies," he added, crossing his arms over his chest. "What were you doing in these lands?"

Aragorn hesitated, glancing over at Legolas. He was rewarded for his hesitation when Creon backhanded him. "You will answer Master Lothram when asks you a question!"

"Peace, Creon," Lothram held up a hand to halt the bandit.

"We were making for Rivendell," Aragorn finally said, deciding that the truth would be the best answer. "I am familiar with the lord of that place...we were hoping he might shelter us for a time and exchange some information."

He could sense the snort Legolas was holding in. He certainly was "familiar" with Lord Elrond...considering the older elf had raised him as a son.

Lothram carefully studied the pair, as though he could see the truth in their minds. "An innocent excursion, you say?" he asked with a hint of amusement.

"It is the truth," Legolas said softly, ignoring Dormian's glare. Aragorn briefly wondered just what the man could have against the elf.

The leader of the bandits shook his head. "I will return on the morrow. Perhaps you will have an answer then."

"What about their packs, Master Lothram?" Dormian asked greedily. "Maybe you could find something in there."

Lothram's eyes narrowed as he considered the bandit. "I will not leave you to paw through their possessions like a common thief, Dormian, to steal what would please you. I will search their packs myself."

Dormian nodded, but his eyes were glittering dangerously. As Lothram left, the thief paused to look back at the ranger and elf. "I only hope Lothram lets me question you," he said, a trace of sadistic glee in his voice. "I have always wanted to wring a scream from an elf."

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	4. Interrogation

_AN: This is the torture chapter. I've never written any before, so please pardon me if it's not very good._

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Chapter Four: Interrogation

The hours seemed to pass slowly as Aragorn and Legolas sat in silence, broken occasionally by a word here or there.

Aragorn wondered what truth Lothram could want. He had been surprised to discover the man who had lead the bandits at the inn was not their leader, though he supposed he should have guessed that someone who seemed the least bit merciful could not possibly be their captor. A slightly sadistic grin formed on his face when he thought about that—as if he and Legolas could ever have been captured by a kind, decent man.

He was mostly concerned, though, with Legolas' condition. Truly, the elf's healing ability had helped his wounds somewhat, but they were still rather painful for him. He could feel the anger gnawing at his stomach every time he thought about the bruises Dormian had inflicted on the archer's shoulders.

Legolas had fallen into a light doze, still leaning against Aragorn. The man winced as he studied his friend's face, with dark bruises around one eye and along his jaw.

His mind turned back to Dormian. What could that man have against elves to make him so vindictive? Because elves occasionally traveled through the area he hadn't thought to try to disguise Legolas, though now he wondered if Dormian had picked the elf as the target in hopes that he'd be caught and could exact vengeance.

Some men were just so...human...Aragorn thought with an inward sigh.

He straightened up as he heard the bandits approaching, wishing for a moment that they could be silent so his friend could rest. It was too late, though, the elf was already stirring, and Aragorn offered him an encouraging smile before one bandit, the one who had lead the men at the inn, and two guards entered the room.

The bandit studied the two prisoners before approaching, casting a warning glance at the guards to stay back. "My name is Obren," he said. "I am Lothram's second-in-command."

"What do you want?" Aragorn asked sullenly.

"The truth," Obren replied.

"I already told you the truth." Aragorn was quickly losing patience.

Obren sighed, squatting down to get a closer look at Legolas. "I can't protect you for long," he said softly. "Lothram will send the others back unless you tell me something I can use to give them a reason not to touch you."

Elf and ranger were taken aback. "What could we tell you?" Aragorn asked.

"Who is your master?" Obren said. "Why are you here? What brought you so far out of your way? Are you working for our enemies?"

Aragorn sighed. "You know the answers to those questions."

The bandit's gaze saddened. "I suppose I do," he said, standing up. "I am sorry, but there is nothing I can do," he whispered.

Obren left before Aragorn could ask what he meant, and the ranger gave the elf a meaningful look.

"That was interesting," Legolas commented. "At least he's not utterly evil, like some of the men you introduce me to on these wonderful journeys of ours."

Aragorn chuckled, studying his friend with scrutiny when Legolas winced. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"No, Strider, I'm dying."

It took the ranger a moment to catch that his friend was being sarcastic, and when he did he lightly thumped the elf on the arm. "Not funny," he growled.

"I'm fine," Legolas said with a laugh. "Just a little stiff."

"Lean forward," the man ordered gently, pulling the elf's collar back to check on his shoulders. He was discouraged to find that the bruises looked even worse in the light of day. "Do they still hurt?"

The elf nodded. "Don't touch them," he said warningly.

Aragorn sighed and sat back against the wall, watching as Legolas turned sideways to lean his shoulder against the stone. "Do you think Dormian will be back?" the archer asked quietly.

"I hope not," Strider replied, a saddened tone in his voice. "But I believe he will."

Legolas closed his eyes and shook his head. "And considering we told no one we were going to that particular inn there is no reason to hope someone will find us soon, is there?"

The ranger grimaced. "I'm afraid not."

The elf snorted, his eyes still closed. "Remind me again why we went to _that_ inn?"

Aragorn couldn't help but laugh. "I have no idea."

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Legolas had barely fallen into a light doze when he heard the distant tramp of footsteps coming down the corridor to their cell. He immediately straightened up, wincing when the movement tugged at the stiff muscles in his neck and shoulders.

Aragorn was sleeping, his head tipped back against the wall and his mouth hanging open. Legolas grinned, reaching over and gently closing the ranger's mouth.

The touch, of course, immediately awakened Aragorn and he whirled about, reaching for a dagger that wasn't there and slamming his hand into the wall.

"Someone is coming," Legolas said softly before his friend had time to complain. Strider's gaze hardened, and Legolas knew they were thinking the same thing: Dormian.

Any question was soon thrown from their mind, as in the next moment the door to the cell was flung open and Dormian and several other men crowded into the cell.

"Well, well, well," Dormian sneered with a sadistic grin. "It appears Master Lothram has decided to leave further questioning of the prisoners up to me."

He gave a command to the men who had entered with him, and five of them rushed forward to subdue and separate the elf and ranger. Legolas' struggle was short-lived, his shoulders still too stiff to allow him to fight much, but Aragorn managed to get a few good blows in before one of the men dazed him with a blow to the head.

"Take them down the hall," Dormian said gleefully. "It's been a long time since we had anyone to interrogate," he added, following right behind the men who were leading—well, dragging—Legolas.

The elf knew what was coming next, and he sighed deeply. He wasn't even surprised when they were brought into a room with shackles on the wall and various whips and other instruments of torture laid out on a table.

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Aragorn fought as best as he could, but he was unable to break free of the three men who wrestled him into a chair off in one corner, tying him tightly to it to ensure that he wouldn't escape.

The other two men manhandled Legolas over to a post and tied his wrists together, slipping the bonds up over a hook near the top of the post. Aragorn seethed as his friend's face paled—no doubt he was in pain from being forced into that position.

Dormian took a small knife and cut off the elf's tunic and shirt as well as the bandages that supported his still-broken ribs. Aragorn resisted the urge to roll his eyes—this man certainly had a flair for the dramatic.

"Such pretty colors," Dormian sneered, running a finger over the bruises on Legolas' shoulders, bruises which Aragorn was pleased were finally beginning to fade. However, that didn't keep him from thrashing against his bonds in anger when he saw the elf wince at the bandit's touch.

The bandit walked over to the table, casually choosing a flexible rod about a foot and a half long. "Do tell me the truth, Ranger," he said in a tone that indicated he didn't really want to know anything. "I don't want to have to hurt your friend." Callously, the bandit struck Legolas across the back with the rod. Aragorn flinched, but was glad that Legolas didn't make a sound.

"I told you already!" he shouted. "There is nothing more to tell!"

"What a temper," Dormian snarled, punctuating his words with two bruising strikes against the elf's back. "Just tell me the truth and I'll let your friend go."

Despair welled up in Aragorn's heart. "I already told you," he said. "We were headed for Rivendell, nothing more. We are not here as spies or as raiders or as your enemies...we simply wanted to get to Rivendell."

Dormian grinned, a sadistic spark in his eyes. "I was so hoping you'd say that," he said, turning back to Legolas.

Aragorn shouted at the man to stop, but the bandit refused to listen. He strained against his bonds, ignoring the man who roughly backhanded him and ordered him to be quiet. Dormian was ruthless, beating Legolas without mercy or reason. Tears ran ignored down Aragorn's cheeks as he screamed at Dormian, his heart pained at the whimpers the bandit was wringing from his friend.

There was no preamble, no more threats, no more questions. It was no longer an interrogation, Aragorn realized. Whether Dormian still felt insulted from being exposed as a thief or if he simply had a vendetta against elves, it had become a vicious beating. Aragorn closed his eyes, lowering his head and fighting the despair in his heart. There was nothing he could say to save Legolas now, no matter what the bandits wanted to hear.

It seemed the beating went on for hours, but at last the bandit stopped. Dormian looked sickly satisfied, as though the cries he'd finally forced out of the elf were something to be proud of. He threw the rod aside, studying the elf's back with the air of one who is observing a work of art. "Ah, this will be pretty soon," the man murmured.

"You're nothing better than an orc," Aragorn snapped, and was backhanded again. "We told you everything. This is nothing more than your pathetic thirst for vengeance for an imagined slight masquerading as an interrogation," he added, hoping to direct the bandit's attention back to him the way Legolas had done at the inn. His words were to no avail, however. It seemed Dormian was only interested in tormenting the elf.

"You know," Dormian said with a sigh, surveying the table that held the torture instruments, "I grow tired of listening to the ranger."

"Would you like me to gag him?" one of the men asked.

"No," the bandit turned back, a dark gleam in his eye that Aragorn did not like. "Take him back to his cell. We'll bring the elf to him when we're finished here."

"No!" Aragorn fought as the men began to cut through the bonds that held him to his chair. He looked at Legolas, who was hanging limply against the post, too weak to even lift his head. One of the men cuffed him, another drove a knee into his middle. He fought, but was unable to break free.

"Legolas," he whispered as a sharp blow landed on the back of his head, and the last thing he remembered was Dormian's sadistic laughter as he blacked out.

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_You know, I didn't realize until I started posting these chapter separately just how many cliffies this story had. _


	5. Unsuspected Mercy

Chapter Five: Unsuspected Mercy 

Aragorn did not know how long he was out. He woke in the cell, head throbbing, and was frightened to discover that he was alone.

He scooted back to sit against the wall, drawing his knees up to his chest and locking his arms around them. What were they doing to Legolas? Was he even still alive?

His question was suddenly answered as the door to the cell flung open, and two guards mercilessly dumped the archer onto the floor. Aragorn rushed over to his friend, shaking fingers feeling for a pulse. It was weaker than usual, but steady.

Satisfied that at least the elf was alive, Aragorn gently brushed the blonde hair away to study his friend's condition. His gut twisted sickeningly, and had his stomach not been empty it likely would have revolted.

Dark, angry bruises from Dormian's beating were beginning to show, but they were overlaid with lashes from a whip that covered the elf's torso and legs. Some of his wounds were inflamed, and Aragorn worried that they were already infected.

Aragorn's face darkened in fury as he discovered wounds from at least three kinds of whips. What had they done to Legolas? Why? Fingers shaking, he gently probed the elf's side where his ribs had been injured, and his heart sank as he discovered that another was broken, as well as two cracked on the other side. Thankfully, though, the elf had healed enough that the old injuries had merely rebroken and not broken completely free of the rest of the ribcage.

He pulled his shirt off, tearing the sleeves off and ripping them open to wrap around the elf's chest in hopes of offering his ribs some support. He wrapped the rest of the shirt around the elf when he saw that there was no way he could bandage all of his friend's wounds with that single piece of clothing. The cell was bare of furniture, so he half-dragged, half-carried Legolas over to the wall and sat against it, pulling his friend into his lap as much as he could to keep him off the stone floor.

Aragorn grimaced as he looked down into his friend's still face. One of the elf's eyes was clearly swollen shut, his face a mess of drying blood and...dirt? It looked as though someone had taken a handful of dirt or mud and smeared it into Legolas' face. Which, considering Dormian, wasn't entirely unlikely.

Shifting just slightly to a more comfortable position, Aragorn leaned his head back against the wall and began humming the old lullaby again. It was the only song he could think of at the moment, and somehow it was soothing to him just to hum it.

He didn't know how long he had been sitting like that when he finally felt Legolas stir.

Instantly Strider leaned down over the elf, one hand gently touching his friend's face as he murmured quieting words.

One bleary blue eye cracked open, the haziness of unconsciousness gradually fading as Legolas recognized the face above him.

"You..." the elf whispered faintly, his voice rough, "look terrible."

Aragorn's face split into a broad grin, and he winced as he suddenly noticed his split lip. In his concern for his friend he had completely forgotten his own wounds, though since they were only bruises it didn't matter much to him. "Be glad you do not have a mirror, Legolas," he replied lightly, but his heart was breaking as he knew Legolas must have screamed himself hoarse.

The elf groaned, trying to stretch but whimpering and curling up a little instead. "Did they hurt you?"

"No," Aragorn said reassuringly. "Just a few bruises, don't worry about me...did he ask you anything?"

Legolas squinted up at the ranger. "No," he whispered.

Aragorn leaned his head back with a groan. "I am sorry," he said, sighing. "I wish I knew why he did this."

The elf didn't reply, but rested his head against Aragorn. "So do I," he finally said.

The man flinched. He looked back down, the smallest of smiles creeping to his face as he saw Legolas fighting to keep his eye open. "Just rest, Legolas," he said quietly. "You need to heal."

Shaking his head, the elf struggled to sit up, though Aragorn held him down. "Your ribs," he said gently. "You need to lie down."

"It hurts," Legolas whispered, the look in his good eye a bit desperate.

Aragorn nodded in understanding—with Legolas' wounds there really was no good way for him to lie in this cell. He slowly helped the elf sit up, making Legolas lean against him so he was supporting as much of his friend's weight as he could. Legolas finally relaxed as a bit of the pain receded, and rested his head against Aragorn's shoulder.

The ranger smiled, then frowned in concern as he suddenly noticed the heat radiating off the elf. He touched his friend's forehead with one hand, and his heart sank as he found that the elf was feverish. That could only mean that infection was setting in, and Aragorn dreaded what would happen if he couldn't get help for his friend soon.

Not wanting to distress Legolas, he took back up humming the old lullaby.

The elf relaxed further, and Aragorn desperately hoped his friend would sleep soon. Natural sleep, not unconsciousness, would greatly help him heal.

"Strider?"

Legolas' drowsy voice jolted the ranger out of his thoughts. "Yes? Is something wrong?"

"Will you sing?"

Aragorn blinked in surprise, but quietly complied. His voice had never been as melodic as an elf's, but Legolas seemed contented and finally drifted off into a healing sleep.

Only when he was sure that the elf was sleeping did he let his despair overwhelm him, and he rested his cheek against Legolas' forehead and cried.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

To say that Obren was seething as he followed Master Lothram to the cell would have been an understatement. The bandit was infuriated, both at his leader and at Dormian. He had given his full report of the rather unbalanced bandit's behavior as well as his concerns when Lothram had decided to assign Dormian to the questioning.

He knew the rationalization behind Master Lothram's decision. If interrogating the prisoners would keep Dormian happy, he would not be in danger of striking out against one of his fellow bandits. However, Obren had a suspicion that Dormian would forget that he was supposed to be getting information and take out his misguided prejudices on the elf.

The outward picture of calm, Obren was dancing with impatience on the inside as he waited for the guard to unlock the cell to let him and Master Lothram enter. He didn't know why the master insisted on bringing guards with them...if Dormian's past history was any indication, the elf would be in no condition to fight back, and he was sure the ranger wouldn't endanger his friend by attacking the leader of the bandits.

Still, nothing had prepared him for the sight that greeted his eyes.

The ranger was sitting against the wall, the elf propped sideways against his chest. Obren ignored the ranger's glare and knelt beside him, gently checking the elf's wounds.

"Dormian informs me that you refuse to answer his questions," Lothram said haughtily. Obren gritted his teeth, biting back a scathing retort.

"I did answer," the ranger said, his voice sad yet majestic. "He just couldn't accept the truth."

Without looking, Obren knew what expression was on Lothram's face. The master was likely grinning smugly. "I am sorry," Obren whispered, his voice so soft that only the ranger could possibly hear him.

"Well, Obren, does he live?"

Obren clenched his jaw, setting his face in a neutral expression. "Barely, Master Lothram."

"It seems Dormian was a bit over-zealous," Lothram commented casually.

The bandit could see the ranger's fury grow. "He didn't even question him!" the ranger shouted, not noticing that the elf had been startled awake.

"Peace," Obren whispered. "Anger will get you nowhere...I will do what I can."

The ranger glanced over at him, a puzzled look on his face.

"Master Lothram," Obren called, rising to his feet. "The elf is alive, but I don't know if he'll survive the night."

Lothram shrugged. "I do not care."

"But if he dies you will have no way of getting information out of either of them," Obren replied, his words bitter on his tongue.

The master's eyes narrowed in contemplation. "And what do you suggest?"

Obren paused, thinking carefully. "What if we put them in a room for tonight? We could give the ranger supplies and let him help the elf, and in the morning you could decide if you want to return them to their cell."

Lothram nodded, and Obren was relieved to see that his words were getting through to the master. "What would you do?" Lothram asked, and Obren knew the master was merely curious now and not testing him.

"I would give them two days," Obren replied, even though he would have given them both enough time to fully heal. "Let them rest and recover, and then they might be able to understand the merciful side of your nature and give you the answers you desire."

"I see," Lothram said with a nod, and Obren knew he'd won. "Very well...I shall place the prisoners under your charge."

Obren nodded his thanks, bowing to keep the master from seeing any changes in his expression. While happiness at this assignment in someone like Dormian was to be expected, since that man was as twisted and sadistic as an orc, Lothram would have wondered why Obren was so pleased.

"I shall have them moved immediately," Obren said. "Thank you, Master Lothram."

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_Reviews? Flames? Tar and Feathers?_

_AN: Review responses for this week are delayed because I've been spending the day fighting either a stomach virus or a case of food poisoning. _

_Only one chapter and the (very short) epilogue left!_


	6. Discovered

Chapter Six: Discovered

Legolas woke a few hours later, his mind automatically noting that the sun had set, as the room's small window now let in no light. True to his word, Obren had moved the elf and ranger to a small room with two cots and brought up healing supplies, including many buckets of water.

Aragorn had gently washed the dirt and blood off his friend's body, using herbal compounds to treat the worst of the wounds. He had then bandaged most of the elf's body and helped him change into clothes that Obren had left. They belonged to one of the bandits, and so were a bit too large for Legolas but they were clean and warm. Then, much to his chagrin (he seemed to be sleeping a lot lately), Legolas had fallen asleep.

"Do you feel any better?" Aragorn asked softly, seeing that his friend was awake.

"Aye," Legolas whispered. He shivered as his mind flashed back to the beating he'd endured, and willed himself not to think of it.

"Do you think you could eat something? Obren left some bread..."

Legolas shook his head, instantly regretting it when it left him dizzy. "Water?" he asked.

Aragorn gently lifted the elf's head, helping him drink out of a tin cup. "I'm not sure what to make of this," the ranger admitted, sitting down crossed-legged on the floor, facing Legolas. "There is more going on here than we know."

The elf barely nodded in agreement. Dormian's animosity...Lothram's questions...Obren's concern...he just wished he knew what was really happening.

"I don't suppose you're ready to go back to sleep yet," Aragorn said, a note of mischief in his voice.

Legolas groaned. "It seems I've spent the last day and night sleeping."

"That or unconscious," Aragorn agreed. "Hard to believe that it was just last night that Dormian tried to pick your pocket."

"Don't remind me," Legolas said with a sigh. "If I had left it alone we wouldn't have gotten into this mess," he added, a touch of self-reproval in his voice.

"It's not your fault," the ranger said gently, scooting closer to the cot to lay one hand on the elf's arm. "You did not know of the danger he presented or you would have left him alone."

The blonde being sighed again. Hard to believe that such a small thing could cause so much trouble. "I am never going to an inn with you again," he said.

Aragorn laughed. "Oh, but I've heard the Prancing Pony is such a nice place to visit."

"Strider," Legolas complained.

"I know, Legolas," the ranger said gently, patting his friend's arm. "I am glad you're feeling better."

Legolas felt the same. The rest and his friend's care had helped to restore some of his strength...now if he could just will himself to eat something (his bruised stomach hurt too much to think about it now). "How long was I asleep?"

"Three hours, maybe four," the human said with a shrug. "I took a nap myself," he added as Legolas speared him with a look. "Really, Legolas, I'm fine."

The elf shifted around, pleasantly surprised that the motion didn't send waves of agony through his body, even if it was still painful. He knew this was only a brief reprieve, that even if Obren didn't have them beaten or worse that Lothram would grow impatient and reassign them to someone less merciful in the company.

Quiet footsteps approached, and Legolas figured it was Obren. The bandit knocked on the door, and elf and ranger heard a key turn in the lock before the door opened and Obren stepped in. He slipped the key into his pocket, but Legolas thought he saw something else hidden in the man's hand.

"I came to see how you were doing," Obren said, as though he hadn't seen them in a day rather than an hour or two.

"Better, thank you," Aragorn replied, rising just enough to sit on the edge of the elf's cot.

Obren nodded distractedly, wandering over to the window to glance out. "It's almost midnight," he observed. "Lothram left this evening with a company of men to conduct business. I suppose that means I'm in charge," he added with a rueful smile.

Legolas and Aragorn exchanged glances, neither quite understanding what the man was saying.

"Did you know," Obren said suddenly, sitting on the opposite cot, "that my mother used to tell me the old stories? Stories about the Last Alliance, and about King Isildur?"

The glances the friends exchanged were now slightly wary. "What did she tell you?" Aragorn asked, his voice studiously careless.

Obren shrugged. "She claimed one of her ancestors had been with the king the day he was killed. He barely escaped with his life, and brought back the tale of Isildur to his people. My father never thought the stories held much merit, but my mother always hoped they would come true some day. She always told me that the king would one day return to take the throne, and then we would have peace."

The bandit sighed and smiled sadly. "She died last winter, still hoping she'd live to see the king."

"I'm sorry," Aragorn murmured.

"She died in hope," Obren replied. "And she kept that hope alive for our entire village...though she turned the stories of the line of kings into legends, mixing them with other tales until they became something different. But a few things always remained constant. She always said that the king would bring peace to the land, that he would be a wise and just man, and that he would be known by three tokens: a crown, a sword...and a ring."

Legolas started inwardly. He thought he caught a glimpse of metal in the bandit's hand, but thought it couldn't be. Their packs were in Lothram's possession.

Obren seemed to have read the elf's mind. "I searched your packs after Lothram left," he said casually. "He would have looked chiefly for valuables and information...but there was none in your packs. At least, nothing _visible_."

The bandit stood and paced, his brow furrowed in concentration. He stopped at the window, looking out again. "I really should tell the stableboy to remember to lock the barn. One never knows who might walk up and steal the horse...but I suppose that can wait until morning."

He shifted around, looking back at the friends as they stared in puzzlement. "I have told the guards that we are expecting danger from the north, but the roads seem clear south of this place. I do hope I have made a wise decision," he added in a voice so soft that he could barely be heard.

Obren walked swiftly to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. "The rangers are not the only ones who remember," he said quietly, setting something on the small table that was over-loaded with herbs. The door closed behind the bandit, and Aragorn was up in an instant, pushing herbs aside to see what Obren had left.

Legolas heard his friend gasp, and Aragorn turned back with a shocked expression on his face. "Legolas..." he whispered, crouching beside the cot and holding something in his cupped hands.

It was the Ring of Barahir.

The elf stared at the ring, then up at his friend. "He knows?" he asked incredulously.

Aragorn shook his head in disbelief. "That knowledge was lost nearly three thousand years ago...and yet."

"Someone remembered," Legolas said in wonderment.

Almost reverently, Aragorn slid the ring back into its place on his finger. "Now what?" he asked.

Legolas knew the ranger was not expecting a response, but something else had been bothering him since Obren had left. Something he heard or didn't hear... "The door," he said suddenly, struggling to sit up with Aragorn's help.

"What about it?" Aragorn asked.

"He didn't lock the door."

The human's eyes widened in shock, and he sprinted over to the door, pulling it open with ease. "I don't believe it."

Legolas replied with a happy smile, throwing the blankets off and rising unsteadily to his feet. "What are we waiting for?"

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_I haven't been able to finish the review responses yet, but they will be up Wednesday or Thursday._


	7. Epilogue: South to Freedom

Epilogue: South to Freedom

Not only had Aragorn and Legolas found a horse waiting for them in the stables, but Obren had gone so far as to leave their boots and cloaks and a pack of supplies.

Legolas was still weak, and even with Aragorn's help he had barely made it to the stables. Aragorn made his friend sit before him on the horse, so he could keep an eye on him should his condition change. The ranger noted with grim irony that the horse they were stealing was the one Dormian had been riding, and for the only time in his life he was glad to be taking a horse from its owner. This time, though, he had no intention of returning it or paying the owner back.

Ears attentive for danger, they rode silently out of the bandits' camp, the layout of the buildings hidden by the darkness.

As Obren had said, the road to the south was clear and they encountered no guards. Aragorn spurred the horse faster as soon as they were past the camp, making first for the inn where they had been captured. With any luck, their horses would still be safe at the livery, and they could be on their way to Rivendell in a day.

He smiled as Legolas' head lolled against his shoulder, the elf sleeping again completely unaware that Aragorn had drugged him so he would sleep through the journey rather than riding in discomfort.

_May we meet again, Obren_, Aragorn thought as they rode south to freedom. _When you are away from this bad company._

_The End_

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_Reviews? Flames? Tar and Feathers?

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_

_AN: I know you all wanted to see Dormian die a most gruesome death but, well, I had to save something for the sequel. Seriously, though, I'm in the middle of _Fear No Darkness_ right now, but as soon as I can I'm going to start work on _An Impossible Choice_, which picks up where this story left off (literally--it begins with Aragorn and Legolas back at the inn where it all started). That story will explain more about the bandits, and tie up many threads this story left hanging. _

_Anyway, short though it was I hope you enjoyed _Bad Company_. Thanks for reading!_


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